A Lesson in Empathy
by Story Please
Summary: Dolores Umbridge has always been a terrible toad, even before the war, but it isn't until after the Dark Lord is dead that she finally gets her comeuppance. In the old days, most would have been content to let the foul Undersecretary rot in Azkaban, but Hermione Granger is convinced that her new technique can successfully deprogram the woman's bigotry for good.


Written for: Bonus Round #4: Unpopular Characters

Captain's Round Prompt: Dolores Umbridge

Prompts Used: (word) Persona, (object) Belt, (dialogue) "I need your help."

Word Count: 3,437

Author's Note:

Beta Love: Thanks to Queen Pony and Ebenbild for the beta!

* * *

**A Lesson in Empathy**

It was a dark day for Dolores Jane Umbridge as she was led from her cell to face the consequences of her actions. But then again, according to anyone in a ten mile radius, she rather deserved it. Dolores had gotten so used to simply getting away with her actions, deplorable (but _necessary_ as far as she was concerned) that they were, that she'd been blindsided when Harry Potter himself had dragged her portly arse in for arrest. She'd tried to pull some strings, call in some favours, but things had changed since the war had ended, and for once, Dolores found herself alone.

She was frog marched to a wooden chair and told to wait. A thick leather belt helder in place and she shifted uncomfortably, her prisoner's garb sticking to the seat in a most awkward fashion.

"Hello, Dolores." Hermione Granger smiled warmly as she sat in the other chair, her hair plaited back into a thick braid.

"Pleasantries aside, I would appreciate if you would get on with it." Dolores tried to smile back, but could only manage a grimace. Here was a terrible sight before her eyes. The very same girl who had tricked her into...that _unspeakable_ night with the centaur herd was now, apparently, in charge of her fate.

Hermione flipped through a stack of parchment and indicated where Dolores had signed. "You do realize that this treatment will reduce your sentence to the time to complete it, which should take anywhere from three months to a year."

Dolores nodded. She couldn't trust herself not to say something snippy.

"I must also inform you that, although we promise that the treatment has been thoroughly tested and vetted, there is always a chance that something could go wrong. Side effects include memory loss and fatigue as well as muscle and bone density reduction. The treatment works on the mind but not necessarily the body. Again, as you are aware, potions will be used to mitigate these factors. And finally—"

Dolores couldn't stand it any longer. "I understand perfectly. You're glad to have me here under your gaze like an insignificant bug. So, can we just begin?"

Hermione scowled, caught herself, took a deep breath, and then gave Dolores a measured look. "—And finally, regardless of the result, I want you to know that I bear you no ill will, Dolores Jane Umbridge, Former Madam Undersecretary of the Ministry. You have been charged and sentenced as part of a more enlightened society. It is true that you have done cruel, terrible things, but while you are in control of your own actions you are also a product of a racist, bigoted society in which these actions are normalized and even applauded as a way to gain favour and privilege. It is our hope that this will be a step forward in deprogramming that hatred and cruelty, and that, in the end is our final goal. To change society, we must do more than kill those who have done hateful things. We must, in effect kill the hateful _ideas_ in and of themselves."

Dolores rolled her eyes. Of all the preachy, self-righteous things this bint could say, this was the worst.

"I...I would also like to formally apologize for my hand in your trauma amongst the centaur," Hermione said, her voice growing soft. "If it is any consolation, I think you might find some solace in your coming journey."

Dolores shuddered. "Just do it."

Hermione smiled, then. "Of course." Her wand was out in a flash of movement and Dolores knew no more.

* * *

_Run._

The crisp smell of a cool Autumn night.

_They come._

A howl rose, cut short by the crack and flash of a spell. Dolores shook awake, her fur prickling with fear. Her lips pulled back in a feral growl and she rose to all fours from where she'd been sleeping. The flattened grass released a sweet, nostalgic smell, but she knew it was not time for sleeping. Her stomach growled, but it would have to wait.

A cry sounded to her left. "I've found the entrance to their den!" shouted a boy whose voice was not quite deep enough to have settled into manhood.

Another voice, a woman's, deep and husky. "Our reports indicated pups. Quick, kill the filthy creatures or we shall have an infestation of half-breeds!"

A sound to her left, and she smelled the blood pouring from the female werewolf's side before she saw the tawny-furred werewolf limp into view, collapsing only a foot away.

_I need your help._

She fixed Dolores with yellow, dying eyes, her breaths quick and shallow as the life left her body.

_Please. Save them. My...my babies..._

They'd be upon her soon. Dolores' legs ached to run, to flee. _No._ Outrage filled her, and she bent down, licking the wound and snuffling reassuringly with her snout. _Rest. I will see to them._

She ran. She wasn't fast, but she managed. Her legs were thick and short, and she had the sensation that her thickly-set body hadn't changed all that much in the transformation. Her fur seemed to glow golden in the light of the full moon as her body whispered through the grass. She felt like she could run forever, like this. The wolf was more than just a temporary persona placed over her skin by dark magic. The wolf whispered inside of her, was _part_ of her. It wanted to hunt, to run, to roll in sweet grasses, to protect, to mate, and to bite anyone who got in the way of her freedom.

The pungent scent of humans filled her nostrils and her lips curled back. They had blood on their hands, these humans. Her ears pricked and she could hear tiny snuffling yips of fear and confusion.

They weren't her pups, but why did they not deserve a life? They had done no wrong, and yet they'd been hunted down like they were vermin.

Dolores stalked low to the ground, feeling grasses tickling her belly as her shoulders twitched with anticipation to strike. The witch who'd spoken held a wicked axe in one arm, the silver gleaming in the moonlight. She was leaning nonchalantly, her hat angled at a jaunty angle, as she waited for her partner to finish his dark deed.

Umbridge's jaw hung open and when she could get no closer, she leapt, cleanly biting through the witch's axe arm, her claws digging deeply into the woman's torso.

The weapon dropped with a wet, hot sound and the witch's scream made Dolores' ears flick back. A flash of silver and a small knife nearly gutted Dolores, but she rolled, pushing off of the woman's thigh with her back claws, and it merely ran a shallow wound up her flank. Dolore howled and turned, her body tense with bloodlust.

"Mum! No!" The teen boy had run back to the mouth of the cave, his hands empty and clean. A long blade lay in a scabbard strapped against his back. Dolores would have smiled had she the ability to do so. He hadn't had the chance to kill them yet, then. The witch's eyes moved to him and she stuck out the arm with the knife as though to shield him, but Dolores could see that she was already succumbing to the blood loss, so she hung back from the wildly swinging arc of the knife. The idiot didn't have enough presence of thought left to pull her wand. Soon enough, she staggered forward, fell to one knee, and collapsed face down, her limbs flailing weakly.

"Mum!" The boy lunged forward, mindless with fear. Dolores struck, taking the boy's arm into her mouth and breaking the skin just enough to make him bleed.

There was no reason to kill them when she could add them to their numbers. They would soon learn the horror of what they had meant to do to their own kind.

The boy fainted next to his mother and Dolores ran forward, her ears pricked for the sounds of tiny yips and howls.

_Ah, there!_ She found three tiny pups, their eyes still closed wrapped in a soft, hand-knitted blanket. Their mother must have only just given birth to them. Dolores carefully gathered the material up well enough to form a makeshift pouch and gently carried it away from the cave in her mouth. There was no telling if more hunters would come. She returned to the mother wolf, whose breathing was barely a shudder, and brought the pups to her nose.

_They are safe._

The mother wolf's tail patted the ground weakly and then she was gone.

Dolores moved quickly, finding another den before the sun rose in the sky, and curled around the bundle of baby werewolves to keep them warm in the predawn chill. She closed her eyes.

She dreamed of running free across an endless expanse, and in her sleep, she whimpered.

* * *

"Wake, Dolores, for it is time for your studies to begin." A soft hand rubbed her head affectionately, and Dolores rose slowly, her long, hooved legs stretching out before they gathered under her and lifted her up to her feet. Her ears flicked back and forth and her tail swished back and forth in agitation.

"Yes, Father," she said obediently. She rose, her stocky pony-like legs carrying her to the bathing room, then began to dress and brush herself. Her mother plaited her mane and tail with flowers and intricate braids as she affixed a cotton shift over her head and fastened a leather buckler over it. When she was done, her mother took her to the silver looking-glass by the door and Dolores looked at herself approvingly. She was especially pleased at her glossy, almost apple-red coat.

After a hot breakfast of cooked oats with berry sauce, Dolores followed the other colts and fillies to the grove with Master Archibald, who taught them how to see the stars even when the sun was shining, which then transitioned into a hunt for berries, herbs, and game with the others centaur children. Some children tucked their legs under themselves as they foraged, while others used spears and bows to hunt small game. Still others used snares and nets. They tolerated her presence, of course, but Dolores wasn't quite like the rest with their gangly legs and slim torsos. Still, she found herself enjoying the sound of her snare snapping to attention after all of her careful preparations. There was dignity and skill in all that they did. They washed, cleaned, and prepared the food, creating a mouthwatering communal meal of stew and fruit.

"We have all lived lives before this one, and will pass on to live lives after breath has left our bodies," Master Archibald said, leading them in the Gratitude Promise. "We cherish what we have been given here, and treasure all life, including that which gives its vitality to fill our bellies."

The others echoed his words and dug in.

Later, Dolores was placed in charge of watching over the younglings with a few of her peers, a job she wasn't particularly happy about, but she made do. Anyone could see there wasn't a motherly bone in her body. She wanted to run, to build, not to wipe noses and scold fillies from getting too close to the acromantula nesting grounds.

"Barquin has disappeared!" The anguished cry was raised and Dolores at first pretended not to hear, as she was certain the others would find the industrious colt. But, after several panicked passes of the meadow and the nearby hollow, the adults were roused from their council meeting and the hunt was on. The sun wouldn't set for some time, but still Dolores eyed it nervously. She and another centaur lad named Garich took their assigned quadrant of the forest. She had her hunting knife, of course, and Garich wore his bow on his back, but something didn't smell right and Dolores' ears flattened against her head with discomfort. Their ears pricked forward when they heard a familiar voice crying out in pain.

Running at full canter, they broke through the treeline and onto the grounds of Hogwarts. They both knew they weren't supposed to be there, but they saw Barquin cowering low to the ground as several human wizards pointed their wands at him.

"Hah, look at the half-breed freak!" the four boys jeered. "Which one was the horse, do you think, lads, the mother or the father?"

Dolores saw red.

"Get away from the youngling!" she shouted, drawing her blade and charging. In that moment, it didn't matter that she was short and squat for a centaur. She bore down upon them with the wrath of a hurricane. One of them turned to point a wand at her, but paled when he saw the expression on her face.

"Guys, let's get out of here before the beast gets us!" another human shouted.

Garich shot an arrow high on purpose and one of the bullies yelped as it embedded itself in the ground near his feet.

Dolores watched them go, and gathered the shivering youngling in her arms. She draped him over Garich's back, where he clung to the long braid that hung down the back of Garich's shoulders.

That evening, they celebrated around the fire, telling the story of the bravery of the two centaurs, and Dolores found herself drifting to sleep as the fire danced gaily before her eyes.

* * *

"Oi, mudblood, get up!"

Dolores was rudely thrown from her bed and heard the giggles of the other girls erupt around her.

"Oh look, she's wearing Muggle pajamas," another girl said, snickering loudly. "Might as well be wearing a garbage sack."

She looked up to see that her bed had been levitated sideways to throw her from it, and she shot a glare at the perfectly coiffed expression of the ringleader of the group.

"Cut it out, Cynthia," she said gruffly.

"Or what, you'll eat me? Ooh, I'd be scared, but I'm not a pastry." Cynthia gave her a mocking expression, then turned heel with her toadies following behind her.

Dolores adjusted her uniform and frowned at the colors that adorned her collar and sleeves. So much for Ravenclaws being enlightened.

She cancelled the spell on the bed before it dropped on its side, but it still took her awhile to put things to rights. By the time she rushed down the stairs to the Great Hall, breakfast was nearly over, and she had to shove some food into her napkin and stuff it in her rucksack.

All through the day, she found herself the target for anti-muggleborn abuses. Cynthia and her friends oinked at her in the hallways. They hexed her when she had to use the toilets. They sabotaged her potion, and even Slughorn was giving her a weary look by the end of class.

"My girl," he said, his mustache twitching sadly as she packed up her things, "as much as it pains me to say it, some students of...Muggle parentage...simply aren't skilled in the art of brewing."

Dolores felt tears stinging her eyes, but she refused to cry until she'd fled from the room.

She pulled out her wand and looked at it. She had the uniform, and her wand had chosen her. She'd been Sorted just like the rest. She knew that she was getting fair marks across the board and was even excelling at Charms. So why did her Muggle heritage make her inferior? Why were they singling her out when many of them were just as inexperienced as she was?

For a short time, Dolores fumed at the unfairness of it all. But then, finally, when her snit was spent, she gathered herself and did what she always did.

_Plan. Gather allies. Find enemy weaknesses. Then make them pay._

There were many ways to make people pay, Dolores knew. Many of them didn't even rely on magic or brute strength. Instead, she used her favorite tactic.

She used the _Rules_.

She recruited other muggleborns and their supporters through an innocuous club posting.

"**SEEKING NEW MEMBERS FOR THE STUDENT SOLIDARITY CLUB!**" read the meticulously hand-lettered sign.

Before long, nearly half of the school was at least a casual member of the club. It helped that she always brought snacks. There were few better ways to get people to show up than the promise of free food.

The main rules of the club were as follows:

Students of Hogwarts should feel welcome at school.

If someone is making a student unwelcome, it is up to a member of the SSC to intervene, walk with the student, and distract a bully so the student can escape.

The more who intervene, the better.

If all else fails, use the Almost Permanent Sticking Charm, or APSC for short.

Dolores hadn't created the APSC, but she'd known enough to ask around with the bookworms in their club and _they_ had created it to be both the easiest and most effective method to stop bullies in their tracks..._literally_.

Only certain members were advanced enough to learn it, and it was to be learnt silently to those who had proven their worth just in case it leaked to unsavory characters. Dolores had her ways to ferret out potential spies, and saved a number of students from unpleasant situations. None of the popular purebloods expected a squat, stocky student like her to have so many friends. Her face was toadlike even when she smiled, but none of that meant a thing when she was standing in front of a hex meant for a first year muggleborn with a shield charm ready to deflect it. As time went on, Dolores realized that it wasn't just for her own sake and safety that she did this whole thing— she actually _enjoyed_ helping others. She now had a network of friends across all Houses and years, and for the first time in forever, Dolores was no longer lonely. A darkness and bitterness in her heart withered with each hug, with each moment spent in kindness and friendship.

And, too, so did the hatred of those who thought muggleborns were inferior in the halls of Hogwarts. The professors were astounded, as they'd implemented plenty of policies to combat the problem to no avail. What they had missed in all of their years of punishments and assemblies was that change could not be forced upon students— they would fight anything they didn't accept within themselves. No, as Dolores had learned, change was only possible with participation and connection with one another.

As she stepped onto the stage to accept her diploma, Dolores hesitated. Dumbledore handed her the rolled parchment with a kindly smile and a twinkle in his eyes as always, but something kept her from stepping forward into the shimmering doorway that would whisk her home.

"I...I'm not ready," she said, biting her lip.

"My dear, might I suggest that you look out among the crowd at your friends?" Dumbledore indicated the other students sitting out on the grassy field, their robes fluttering in the breeze.

Dolores turned, her eyes already watering with emotion as she saw her friends waving and calling out encouragement to her. This was it; she couldn't just stay here, she had to move on.

She took a deep breath.

_Breathe. Move forward. Don't look back._

"I'm ready now, Professor," she said, smiling. She didn't feel like a horrid toad when she smiled.

"Congratulations, Miss Umbridge on becoming a new woman," Dumbledore said, "I do believe you'll do all of us proud out there."

Dolores accepted a hug from the old wizard and clutched her diploma, her steps full of resolve as she crossed the threshold into the real world beyond.

* * *

"Time to wake up, Dolores. How do you feel?" Hermione's voice was bright and chipper.

Dolores blinked, her eyes adjusting to the bright light in the room around her. She lay on a bed, her body tucked beneath starched white sheets. She raised a hand to her forehead and felt herself breathe. It had felt so _real_. But, as she continued to get her bearings, she realized that something inside her had fundamentally shifted. She had a sense of shame, but more than that, she felt a sense of _duty_ that hadn't been there before. She didn't quite smile as she turned to look at the witch across from her, but she nodded. "I think—I think that things are going to be better now," she said, and her heart swelled with joy when Hermione beamed back.


End file.
